"And you also, Kamala," Laura said, her voice choked. She rose and gave the maharani a hug, then a deep "Namaste. I will pray for both of us, my friend."
There were tears in her eyes when she left. She hoped to God that the events that were shaping up would not make it impossible for both of them to have their hearts' desires.
Chapter 31
Meera clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "It isn't proper for a memsahib to dress like an Indian boy."
"Let's hope that no one will suspect that a memsahib would even think of such a thing," Laura responded. Having already donned baggy pants and light boots, she layered two enormous shirts over each other and tied them around her waist with a sash. Even with her breasts flattened by a close-fitting undershirt, she was beginning to appreciate Ian's remark that she didn't have the sort of body that was easily disguised as a boy's. Luckily it was late autumn; by the time she added a couple of loose coats to her costume, she would be thoroughly sexless.
Shivering in the chilly air, Laura put on the last coat. They had left the royal palace before dawn that morning and ridden south toward Bombay. Five miles from the city, they had veered off the main road and ridden into this dense thicket, where she and Ian were to change their identities. Meera had helped her apply stain to every visible bit of skin, then had braided her hair and tucked it around her head in a coronet.
Tying the turban proved tricky; it required a knack that she didn't have. A good thing she also had an all-encompassing burqa to wear when passing through towns. It would be more prudent to wear it all the time, but a burqa was a suffocating garment, with only a small square of mesh to see through, so she intended to avoid it whenever possible.
Laura thrust a scabbarded knife in her sash, then slung her rifle over her shoulder. "How do I look, Meera?"
Meera clicked her tongue again, her head shaking back and forth. Laura thought that meant failure until the girl said, "I would not know you for a ferengi, memsahib, nor a woman. Here, look at yourself in the mirror."
Laura caught her breath when she saw her image in the hand mirror. With her slanting eyes and stained skin, she looked like a genuine Asiatic. The skin dye even had the effect of making her eyes look darker, more brown than amber. From what Mongol ancestor had she inherited her eyes? Probably a Tartar warrior who had casually raped a Slavic woman. Europe and Asia met in Russia, and in Laura. For the next fortnight or so, she must draw on that ancestry and think like an Asiatic.
"Time to see how the men are doing," Laura said. They made their way through the bushes to the clearing where the horses were, Laura trying to walk like a man. In the clearing, Zafir and a badmash, the local term for a ruffian, were in the process of changing the saddles and harness from European to Indian.
Laura blinked, not believing her eyes. Though she knew the second man had to be Ian, she wouldn't have recognized him if she passed him on the street. He had changed not only his clothing and skin color, but his whole demeanor. He no longer carried himself like an officer. He didn't even move like a European, though she couldn't define the difference.
He'd also discarded his black eye patch for a cruder version in tan leather that was almost the same shade as his skin. Even the color of his other eye seemed different, less blue, closer to the gray tone sometimes found among fair Asiatics.
Ian turned and examined Laura critically. "Not bad," he decided, "as long as you don't get too close to anyone. You look rather like a Gharhwali."
"What are Gharhwalis?"
"A tribe from the foothills near Nepal. They have a fair amount of Mongol blood, but tend to be a little taller and lighter in build than Ghurkas." He chuckled. "If anyone questions your appearance, I'll say that Gharhwalis are also noted for their pretty girlish faces. No one will be the wiser, since I doubt many Gharhwalis are seen in these parts."
Laura checked her baggage, hoping she wasn't forgetting something vital. Though she was used to traveling very lightly by British standards, now their supplies were pared to the bone. Most of their possessions were going with Zafir, to be left at Habibur's with Meera, while they carried only basic provisions and ammunition, with nothing to identify them as Europeans.
Then it was time for the two couples to separate. While the men shook hands and exchanged a few last words, Laura hugged Meera and wished her Godspeed, then swung onto her horse.
As they cut through the trees to the road, she felt vulnerable, shorn of her identity. Uncannily reading her mind, Ian said, "It's not too late to change your mind, Larishka. If you're having second thoughts, don't let pride stand in the way."